


The Sea Inside - Act One

by UglyWettieWrites



Series: The Sea Inside [1]
Category: Alec Hardy - Fandom, Broadchurch, DI Hardy
Genre: Alec Hardy - Freeform, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Ass Play, Drunk Sex, Erotica, Established Relationship, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Hardy can't help it, Masturbation, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9624500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: Grace and Alec have been living with each other for a while now, but after his despair with Tess, it’s difficult for him to open up. When Grace comes home drunk after a night out with friends, he discovers there is a way to make it easier for him to experiment and do what he longs to do without judgement.





	

“Honey, I’m home!” Grace yelled jubilantly as she stumbled in. The flat was dark. The faint smell of cooked food lingered in the air. Something delicious. Had he waited on her?

She held on to the cabinet in the foyer as she took off her heels. She squeezed her arches and moaned. If it wasn’t for the liquor, she’d be limping. She looked at the gorgeous purple suede pumps and giggled. They were worth it.

She hugged the wall as she tiptoed toward the lamplight in the sitting room. He sat in the chair facing the window. His back was to her, and his head was bowed. 

She skip-jumped to the chair and fell to her knees beside it. “Darling. I’m home-“ His brown eyes were owlish in the low light. She jumped. “I thought you’d fallen asleep. Oops.” She tried to pull him from the chair. He resisted.

She rolled her eyes. “Come now, Alec. Take me to bed.”

He sat, hands on his knees. “I made us dinner. Your favorite, white wine-roasted chicken.”

That was the smell. Fuck.

She unzipped her skirt and wiggled out of it. “I’m starving. We can still eat. Just lemme get out of these clothes-“

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I put it away.”

“Then we’ll nuke it. I don’t mind.” 

He sighed. “This is not cute.”

“What?” Even through the wine, she was bruised by his inexplicable iciness.

“The drunkenness. Running around town, acting like a silly girl. ” He was still looking out the window and not at her. She knew he was upset, but he wasn’t being fair.

“Silly girl?” It came out soft. “ _Silly girl?”_ Her hand was on her hip. “I work **hard**. I barely see the light of day. It’s patient after patient, night after night. Ever since we started seeing each other I have given you my undivided attention, spending every free moment together.  I do it willingly. I want you to know how much I love you. Now that we live together, what’s wrong with me taking a bit of time - just an evening, twice a month - to decompress with my friends? We are not married. We do not have children. Why is it silly?”

He finally looked up at her. His eyes were unreadable. She loved him, but sometimes, his ability put up walls was unnerving.

“You said you’d be back sooner.” It bordered on whining.

She looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s 11:27. I’m hardly breaking curfew,” she said, unable to suppress her sarcasm. She unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off, draping it on the arm of the chair. She stood in bra and panties in front of him.

“You realize you’re in front of the window, don’t you?” he said. That soft, patient tone was beginning to infuriate her.

“It’s my house, Alec. I can be naked wherever the fuck I want.” She took off her bra without unhooking it and threw it aside. A vase wobbled precariously on a shelf nearby. “Asshole,” she said, but in the quietest of whispers. Still, he heard.

He touched her thigh, but she slapped his hand away.

“I’m gonna go take a shower and wash off the scent of booze. I’ll see you in bed when you’re done looking out into the night.” She got eloquent when she was angry.

He grabbed her hand, squeezed. “I was watching for you.”

She pulled free and made it only three steps before zig-zagging into the coffee table. “Goddamnit!” The two shots of tequila she’d taken before heading home were beginning to take effect. She rubbed on her aching shin, and promptly fell on her ass.

He rose and helped her up without a word. Just as soon as she regained her balance, she wrested free of his grip. “Limme alone. I’m silly,” she said. Her tongue was getting heavy.  He walked behind her as she stumbled into the bathroom. She tried to close the door but he opened it and walked in. She stuck her tongue out at him and dropped a bit crookedly to the toilet and took a long, satisfying pee. She looked him up and down.

“Do you…” she waved her hand at his long legs. “D’ye ever wear jeans? A t-shirt?” She giggled and wrinkled her nose. “You look so serious alla time.”

He rolled up his sleeves and turned on the shower. She wiped herself and slapped his arm. “I don’t need … yer help, DI _Hardy_ ,” she said, exaggerated the h. “I can wash my own ass, thank you.” She nearly fell over the toilet. He tested the water with one hand and steadied her with an arm around her waist with the other. The water was too hot. He adjusted the temperature and guided her in, making sure she didn’t fall over the lip of the tub.

The warm water flattened her wavy hair until it was a dark v down the middle of her back. Her head spun. She started to regret the boilermakers. He handed her a soapy rag and she moved it mechanically over her breasts as she held up the wall with the other hand. The shower curtain remained open, and he leaned against the vanity, his arms crossed. She tried to focus, but there were two of him.

She chuckled at the thought.

“Alec one and Alec two,” she slurred as she rubbed the cloth between her legs. She was too drunk to feel the intensity of his stare.

“What d’you say?” he said, his voice with that same patient softness.

The cloth dropped between her feet. “Two of ‘em. One in the front and one in the-“ she bent to pick it up and started to fall. He dove into the spray and grabbed her before she broke her neck.

“You’re clean enough,” he said and guided her out of the shower and into a fluffy towel. His own hair dripped onto her face as she looked up at him.

“Lawful good,” she said, surprisingly clear. She pulled on his wet tie.

“What’s that?” He dried her off vigorously, taking his time on her chest. He knelt to run the towel up each leg, then patted between her legs lovingly. She did not notice the hunger in his eyes.

“You. Good. Eagle Scout. Missionary.” 

His brow furrowed. She did the salute and wobbled as she tried to walk herself out of the bathroom. The towel dropped to the floor as she hugged him, putting her bare feet over his shoes.

“Take me to bed, detective,” she said. He danced her to the bedroom, and she tipped herself to the mattress. The ceiling was bucking. “I’m-I’m-”

“Pished,” he finished. “Absolutely trashed.” He pulled her to sitting and helped her into a short crushed velvet nightie - a birthday gift from him. A spaghetti strap dropped from her shoulder and her shower-hard nipple peeked out. He looked at it, biting his lower lip.

“Alec.” She tugged on his tie again, pulling him close. “Fuck me.” Her eyes, though a bit unfocused, were sincere.

He gently extricated himself from her grip and took off his tie. “Lie back and rest.” He stripped down to his boxers and went into the bathroom to pick up the wet towel. Her discarded panties sat curled in front of the toilet like a drying red petal. He hung up the towel and picked them up. The ghost of dampness made his jaw tighten. He rubbed his thumb where her cunt was, all day, and without thinking, smelled it. Her perfume made him twitch. He threw them hesitantly in the hamper and looked at himself in the shower-foggy mirror.

He was slowly gaining weight, but his body was still quite slim. He flexed his chest and rubbed his fingers through his three-day beard.

Lawful good. Missionary.

He dreaded in vino veritas. He had ever since Tess had blurted out her infidelity during a bender. He sucked on his musky thumb and sighed. He loved Grace, so he made love to her. He wanted to kiss her, caress her, feel her tremble with need, see her eyes change as she climaxed. 

Eagle scout. Pfft.

 

His eyes focused back on his reflection. His face was a mask of confusion. His hands were fists at his sides. She would have to forgive the fact he couldn't bring himself to be a savage with her. He gave Grace what he felt in his heart she deserved, regardless of the sometimes primordial pull of his own desire-

“Hardy? Water!”

He grabbed a cold bottle from the fridge, turned off the lamp in the living room and went to her. She smiled at him.

“I’m so-” she hiccupped. “-so drunk.”

He gently pulled her to sitting and tipped the bottle to her lips. She drank greedily and licked her lips. “Why does water taste so sweet when I’m wasted?” she said as she slowly sank back down. Her other breast popped out. He caressed up her side, past her breast and pulled the strap back on her shoulder. She grabbed his wrist and sucked on his index and middle finger with a wantonness that made him gasp. She nipped his fingers, then moved his hand between her legs, where she was surprisingly wet. She pumped her hips, guiding his fingers to her swollen clit.

“Fuck me, baby. Now.”

He slid his fingers inside her and bent to kiss her. Her liquor tasting mouth did not put him off. His cock swelled. He tried to get on top of her, but she quickly got on her stomach and hiked up the nightie to expose her ass. She raised it and licked her lips.

“Like this.” She arched for him. His eyes moved from the silky insides of her thighs up to her cunt.  “Yeah.” Her tone made something deep in him tremble. He ghosted his fingers over the curve of her ass. She moaned. He flushed. She lifted her knee high, completely exposing herself to him. “Take me. For your pleasure, not mine.”

Again, her eyes were unusually clear. His cock poked his belly button.  It wept for her.

She wanted him to push her face to the mattress and rut with her like a beast. Rut like an animal, with no tenderness or care for her pleasure. His cheeks tingled, and his breath was short. He loved her. His heart beat true, but he had to be careful. He closed his eyes and sighed. He couldn’t.

He pulled her nightie over her ass and patted it. “Sleep it off. You’re gonna regret it in the morning,” he said.

She slapped him. His eyes widened in surprise. Her lower lip wobbled and her eyes were wet with tears.

“What?” He rubbed his stinging cheek.

She just looked at him. “Nothing, Hardy. Nothing.”

He turned off the light and got in bed beside her. She turned her back on him, hugging her pillow. He stared at the ceiling, trying to push back the dread that tried to thread its way into his brain.The deja-vu gave him vertigo, a cruel nostalgia now that his heart worked. This is the way it had started before. Open anger at his perceived rejection. Then, after a long while and a set number of humiliations, silent disappointment. He preferred anger. It was the silence that terrified him. With Tess, it had taken years, but they were a married couple with a child. They couldn’t get too wild in the small cottage in which they lived.

Grace was not his wife. Not yet, at least. And it seems that for every great day, there was an equally bad day. She was getting tired of making excuses for his behavior. She had never said as much, but he could feel it. He turned on his side and stared at her in the darkness. She lay uncovered, and her nightie had ridden up the sharp curve of her hip to her waist. Her naked skin glowed, pale compared to the rich purple of the lingerie.

His cock twitched.

“Gracie?” Her breathing was steady. “Darling?”

She didn’t stir. The alcohol had bested her. He tugged at her gown to cover her and his thumb grazed her ass. She sighed and arched again, then settled back to sleep. His hand remained on her.

He loved her ass. He supposed it wasn’t too big or too small - perhaps no work of art in show business terms, but it was one of the things he’d noticed on their first consultation. Her, bending over a file cabinet, the slit of her shin-length skirt riding up to give him a glimpse of thigh ... and her ass.

It was a heart. A peach. And her hips were the winged bones upon which God built paradise.

Unlike Tess, she didn’t dress in boxy suits and baggy shirts to hide her femininity. Although the medical profession was no less quietly antagonistic to female doctors than than the police force was toward female police officers, Gracie simply didn’t care. She’d said as much on many occasions. “Sometimes, they’ll see I have tits. And sometimes, I’ll smell like an English garden and not disinfectant. They can fuck right off if they don’t like it.”

He chuckled softly and squeezed the smooth skin of her hip.

Grace was a bold one. That’s why he fell in love with her. She helped him be less afraid, every day. She moved, lifted her knee, and snored softly. He could smell her frustrated arousal. It shone on her thighs.

She was a busy woman, with odder hours than him. He liked taking care of her - cooking and doing the silly household stuff she was too exhausted to even think about. She had offered to pay a cleaning service, but he refused. It was ridiculous.

He inched closer, pressing himself against her. She let out a long little whimper, something she did when she was extra tired. He wrapped his arm around her. Despite the shower, she exuded liquor. He wrinkled his nose. Smelly darling. She whimpered again. He kissed her temple and rubbed her smooth belly. His hand moved up to the hot weight of her breasts and squeezed.

“I’m sorry for being such a shit,” he whispered into her neck. He caressed her with his thumb and her nipple hardened. “So sorry.” He rubbed his lips against her neck. She was so warm, so silky. His cock nestled between the lobes of her ass. He was on fire. So much so, he was surprised she didn’t wake with his heat.

He went into his boxers and took himself out. He throbbed insistently. He started to roll out of bed to go to the bathroom to relieve himself, but she grabbed him and tucked his hand back underneath her nightie.

“Gracie?” he said gently, kissing her shoulder. But she was gone. Her warmth was making him crazy. He reluctantly tried to extricate himself again, scooting down since his side of the bed was against the window. She stretched, hugging her pillow tighter. Her lovely ass jiggled just inches from his face.

Without thinking, he kissed it. Blood rose to his face, but his lips lingered. He looked up at her.

He’d never done that. _Never_. To any woman.

He rested his hand on her and his fingers curled around the wing of her hip. His mouth watered. He stuck the tip of his tongue out. Her skin was tasteless, clean. His nose dimpled her silky flesh, and his mouth traveled closer to the cleft. He held his breath, expecting her to swat at him at any moment, but she was anesthetized by tequila. His body was tense. Was it right? Maybe-

She shifted and his mouth nestled where his cock had been. He felt the streak of wetness he’d left. He bit back a moan. There was no light, just taste and scent.

 _Gracie._ He whispered into her, then licked. First a short lick, but just as soon as he tasted her he spread her open and licked from right below her pussy to her cleft. It was just scented flesh but still he groaned. He stopped and looked up again. She slept on. He bowed his head to lick the puckered flesh of her asshole. It tasted like the soap she loved, and for some reason, it frustrated him.

What did he expect?

The musk and salt of her cunt. He slid two fingers into her slit, still so deliciously slick, and smeared it over the hole. He plucked at her tight opening and it swallowed his finger to the first joint. She was so hot there. He pulled it out and replaced it with his tongue. He sighed into her, dripping saliva onto her skin.

This. It was spectacular. Brilliant.

He caressed her cunt again, just delighting in her silk without really focusing on anything but the slow, deep trollings of his tongue. He wanted to touch himself looking at her saliva-slick cleft but he didn’t want to stop licking. He began to just barely tug at himself with his free hand as he licked her pussy, scooping wetness from it to lube his tongue. He felt her cunt twitch and stopped. She sighed.

“Darling?”

Nothing.

He slid two fingers into her and she pulsed gently around them. He stared at her as he curled his fingers expertly into her g-spot. She exhaled, but remained still. Had she been awake, she would’ve cried out.

With a grunt he buried his face between the lobes of her ass and licked. His eyes rolled back with the deliciousness of it all - her flesh pressing against his cheeks, his tongue, his pumping fingers. It was sensory overload. His cock pulsed, spraying come on her calf. He panted into her, giving her a few more long, deep licks to extend his pleasure. Still, she remained asleep. He rolled out of bed to clean himself up with her heat still making his fingers and tongue tingle.

When he looked at himself in the mirror again, he was a different man. His eyelids were half-mast, and there was a smirk on his pussy-stained face. His usually pale cheeks were rose. As he wiped himself, he realized he wasn’t done. Without a second thought, guided wholly by his lust, he went into the hamper and plucked out her red panties, bringing them close to his nose before leaning against the counter to jack himself off.

[jack his cock!] he thought in exclamations [jack it until it explodes on her scent]

He did it with the hand that was still pussy-slick. He licked his palm broadly, grinning and grunting at the taste then closed it over his cock, moving it quick and hard. He was aching for friction and release.

He looked back at her. Her skin glistened where he licked. Her ass was pink with beard burn. His belly muscles tightened in warning. He clenched the panties in his other hand. Her scent was stronger in his hot hand and he breathed her in deeply.

Filthy darling.

She was delicious and he had barely scratched at the surface of his desire for her. He looked at her, her cunt still swollen from his eager fondling, and this time his orgasm shot straight to his brain. He painfully bit back a cry as he sprayed on the fuzzy bathroom mat. He trembled and sighed, stroking out every drop of come before washing his hands.

As his arousal dissipated, shame tried to take its place but he was tired, so blissfully tired, and he just wanted to fall asleep riding the tail of the intense euphoria he felt. He crawled into bed and spooned her, nuzzling her temple.

“I love you, baby,” he said softly into her ear.

She sighed happily and snored. He kissed her and closed his eyes.

* * *

As ever, she was up before him. The shower was running, and he smelled coffee.

He rolled out of the bed and walked into the kitchen. Last night’s events felt like a fantasy to him. He couldn’t believe he’d actually dared to do it, but he couldn’t deny there was a spring in his step. He looked out the kitchen window, pulling open the pale blue curtains to let the sun in. The cactus plant on the sill had bloomed, and the top of the prickly thing was covered with tiny pink flowers.

“Good morning,” he said, then washed his face at the sink.

“Good morning, honey,” Grace said, walking into the kitchen in crisp scrubs.

“Surgery day?” he said, extending his arms for a hug.

“Sunday funday,” she said, sighing happily into his chest. She looked at him, eyelids narrowed in the morning light.

“You okay? You were pished beyond recognition last night,” he said carefully. She poured herself a huge cup of coffee and drank it down while it was still steaming. It was one of her idiosyncracies - an asbestos tongue.

She groaned and clutched at her stomach. “Whoever created tequila should be repeatedly kicked in the gooch,” she said.

“Sure,” he said. “I’m gonna go take a shower. When are you due at the hospital?”

“Eight.” It was 6:47 am.

He caressed the back of her neck and tipped her head forward to kiss her forehead. She put her hands on his chest and pulled him to her.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he said into her skin.

“I’m ashamed to say I don’t remember much beyond getting in that door, but I’m sure I said or did something stupid. I’ve been really stressed, and for some reason I thought it was a good idea to get obliterated.” She winced, then burped. “It was dumb.”

He rubbed her back. “So you don’t remember the roasted chicken?”

Her face lit up. “Ooh, you made me my favorite?” She opened the fridge and there it was, already packed and ready for her to take. “Yum yum,” she said, wiggling her bum. He smiled.

“So...I didn’t do or say anything weird?” she said as she packed an apple and some pressed juice in her lunchbag along with the chicken.

“Nothing really.” He scratched at his head dramatically. “You might've called me an Eagle Scout, and said I dressed funny.”

“Did I? Wow.” Her cheeks actually reddened. He noticed.

“What’s that about?” he waggled his finger at her face. She bit her lower lip and gave him a crooked grin, a gesture he recognized. “Oh _no_. You have to tell me now.” He took her in his arms.

“Just a thing of mine.” She threw back her head and closed her eyes, still smiling. She ran her fingers through his sleep-spiky hair. “What did I say about it?”

“Something about lawful good.” His grip tightened on her waist. He hardened against her hip.

“Oh.”

He kissed by her mouth.”What?”

“I had a strange dream last night.”

“Oh yeah?” He licked the shell of her ear.

“Yeah. I think.” She sighed and arched.

“What about?” His hand went into the waistband of her scrub pants. She remained silent. He looked at her, the ghost of a grin on his lips. “What kind of dream?”

She squinted up at him. “I don’t know. I felt, uhm, a man was...he was, um...a mouth...”

“A naughty dream. Did you like it?” he said.

She looked at him, head cocked to the side. “Tequila’s a hell of a drink,” she said, gently pulling his hand from between her legs.

He sucked on his fingers. “You should get going. It’s already 7,” he said. “Can I say good luck?”

“I’m not an actress, so yes,” she said, getting on tiptoes to kiss his forehead. “Thanks.”

“Then good look. May your healing hands be a boon to the infirm,” he said in the thickest Scottish accent he could muster.

She pulled him in for another kiss, a much deeper one. His fingers dug into her hips. When she pulled away, she stared at him, yet again, mystified.

He went to shower, and she remained in the kitchen, palms down on the cool marble of her counter.

“Oh my God," she said, taking a deep breath. Her heart pounded in her ears. Just when she thought she might be forgetting, his memory came back to ruin her happiness. What if she had mentioned his name. Or even worse, said it?

She shook her head and looked toward the bathroom, where Hardy hummed something softly.

She could not, would not fuck this up.


End file.
